


Worthy Version 2

by PoisonLyra



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Genre: Blood and Gore, Heavy Angst, I am not sorry, Multi, Past Abuse, Psychological Torture, Torture, this is just my ticket to hell guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonLyra/pseuds/PoisonLyra
Summary: „Virgil, what is the biggest difference between you and the others? “„They are worthy of being loved“-just with more blood





	Worthy Version 2

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sorry that I wrote this. I originally wrote this to a prompt on Tumblr. Enjoy!

Virgil sat there casually on his bed, listening to some music, thinking about everything he shouldn’t (as always). He still doesn’t remember how it happened.

What he can remember is that his vision went away- then he’s sitting in that weird place full of flowers and space-themed statues. The couch he sat on was immensely soft and in a nice peach color he quite enjoyed – Virgil wouldn’t admit it even if his life depended on it.

Virgil never felt out of place like then.

(Well, that was a lie and he knew it- Christmas and Halloween and every other festive day, every single day was hell. But that’s okay, he can deal with that, as long as the others where happy)

Plants in all colors and variations where in there, from Tulips to Poison Ivy, even Corps Flowers and Jade Vines where here for Christs‘ sake! He was a black void in Garden Eden, so wrong in the midst of staggering beauty, tainting everything with his mere presence.

A cough interrupted his thoughts. Turning his head around, the first thing he saw was white- blindingly bright.

Sitting in front of him on another couch was a- a being. Virgil really couldn‘t describe it differently, because it was neither a human nor anything he has ever seen. Yes, it had human features; a nose and mouth, head with white hair softly flowing (it was fucking _moving_ ) down its body and delicate hands and feet

But that was where the resemblance ended. Their skin tone was translucent, letting him see that they had no organs nor bones, just shimmering flesh- if it even was that.

And god, the eyes.

Virgil can still remember them so clearly, theses voids staring through him, ripping his soul into shreds, searching for something he didn't know.

„Hello, Virgil“- their mouth hasn’t moved, not even a bit. Whipping his head around trying to figure out where the voice came from Virgil tensed, fight or flight kicking in. If he jumped over the couch maybe he could-

„You don’t have to be afraid. Well, not now, at least. “

_Not now?_

„I can assume that you don’t know why you are here, am I right? “, it said, cocking their head to the side like a curious cat.

Virgil only stared, looking at them with all his guards up, hands emitting black tendrils of smoke.

It sighs, standing up and walking -no, floating- towards the Side. Virgil went rigid, then jumped and made a run for it

He had no chance.

In an instant, white ropes curled around him, cutting into flesh, taking all of his energy. Virgil was sitting there, completely defenseless.

And it _terrified_ him.

Tutting softly, the being sat on his lap softly tracing over his face with razor sharp claws. „You are so lonely and hurt, yet still so pretty to look at. Well, people do say that broken glass shines and glitters the most, isn’t that right sweet Virgil? “

Their appearance had changed completely. Long, dirty claws replaced fingers, body rotting away and oozing out grey slime.

He couldn’t answer, even if he wanted to. He couldn‘t move, not even his eyes, frozen and horror-struck. _What is happening?_

It laughed silently. Full on, body-shaking laugh, pulling at his hair. „Just preventing you from flying away, little birdy. “

_What do you want from me? Who are you? What-_

The thing swiftly ripped out the hair it had pulled at, successfully silencing Virgil’s thoughts, making him scream and cry, trapped in his mind

„I want to play, of course! I am so old and bored and you are so wonderfully dark on the contrary to me“, it whispered, drawing closer to his face with each word, piercing his skin with its nails, „and you look like a wonderful plaything. “

He would throw up if he could. Every cell in his body is being controlled and he is _so fucking terrified-_

„Do you love them? “

Silence. There was nothing but silence and _fearpainfearpainfearpainfearpain-_

„Do you love your brothers? “, it whispered in his ear, licking over it, making him shiver

He _did_. It doesn’t matter what they said to him, did to him. He still loved them, because that’s what he does. He bleeds for them, suffers for them. He may be Anxiety and Virgil to them but he is fight or flight, too, always protecting

And he will always fight for them.

The thing stood up, shaking its head in bewilderment, facing away from him.

„You really do. And you would also give up everything for them! “It turned around, digging its nails into Virgil’s arms, ripping flesh open.

„But I can tell you one thing“, it whispered against his lips, clutching his jaw, cutting into the muscle, „they will never love or accept you, my sweet little birdy. “

Virgil knew that. He knew that, but why did it still hurt more than the wounds on his body?

„They insult you, hurt you, tear you apart and they know it. They find it funny, don’t you know? “, hand where sliding up and down his chest, ripping it open, severing clothing and skin like butter and he was _s c r e a m i n g_ because _that isn’t true_ and _please stopstopstopstop-_

“They know how you feel and they simply don’t care. They shoot where they know it hurts and watch you bleeding out, finding amusement in your devotion, in your hope”, it spat, gripping his throat and squeezed, eyes turned black and unnaturally wide open, void of every kindness he had previously seen, and hair falling around them like a curtain.

“Logic, Creativity, Morality. Brain, Ego, Heart. They despise you.” It was growling now, strangling Virgil, radiating pure, wild energy, suppressing his last sparks of fight, his hope.

And then it gripped his arm, looking at it and then into Virgil’s eyes “You don’t need this, do you?” it asked, pulling a lighter out of thin air “Because I really want to see you beg for your life”

That was the only warning he got before it held the arm up, holding his hand into the flame, starting at his pinky

It was agony. His skin was throwing bubbles, cracking open. Virgil couldn’t move and he wanted to _runrunrunrunrun-_ escape from that place that was melting around him, plants and walls dissolving into black sludge, slowly making its way onto the floor

It was laughing, slowly going from finger to finger, scorching his flesh, even going as far as destroying his sinew “Oh sweet little birdy, I forgot the best part!”, it giggled, giving Virgil a little bit of control back

And _god_ , he used it. Virgil was screaming, struggling in between tight ropes, blood oozing out of the dozen wounds scattered across his body.

Materializing a knife, the being was drawling poisonous words into his ear, telling him what the others were thinking of him, what they did when he wasn’t there.

“They play with you, build you up just to tear you down and you let them _.”_ Jabbing the knife into Virgil’s leg, it grinned “So let me finish what they started, won’t you? It doesn’t matter anymore, you are so broken that you won’t feel a thing”

That was a lie. Virgil was wailing like a wounded animal, voice turning deep and multiplying, he was so afraid and there was _so much painpainpainpain-_

“Patton is supposed to be the Heart I remember. But _where_ ,” it asked, painting his body red, opening skin, “is that kindness? Where was he when you needed him?”

“And Roman, isn’t he supposed to be the creative one? He was never meant to use that gift for _cruelty_ , for _swords_ and _insults_ and _blood_ ” Virgil could see his bones, white shining through pink and dark red fluids, tainting the floor.

“Logan, oh Logan. It hurts the most with him, doesn’t it?” It had stopped cutting, instead going for his fingernails. _Nonononono-_ it yanked “Because he is always right, isn’t he? And you are just wrong, useless Anxiety.”

Virgil couldn’t give up. That wasn’t his job, his purpose. But he could lose hope.

He has never felt so powerless like in this moment. The being, a demon risen from his own personal hell, breaking his bones so that he could see them standing out between his torn muscles, ripping out finger after finger.

He never wanted death as much as in these second where the black sludge touched him, as it burned away his skin, as it ate away his flesh.

“I’m curious, Virgil. You love them still, even after all they did “, the being asked, letting go of him, “All four of you are villains, but tell me birdy, what is the biggest difference between you and the others? What makes you so unlovable?”

The black mass left his body, leaving behind a body broken beyond repair. His head was missing more than half of his hair, jaw broken and blackening rapidly. His arms and legs where broken, bones sticking out of places they shouldn’t, his chest had cuts scattered everywhere, rips shining through. Hands and feet both had no nails anymore, fingers missing

He still answered.

„They are-are worthy be-being loved“, he whispered, voice distorted, coughing up blood.

“What? Say that again, I didn’t quite hear you”, it mocked, watching as Virgil tried to curl into himself, hoping to find a position not bringing him pain

“The biggest difference is-is that they are worth-worthy of being lo-loved”, he repeated, staring into nothing, “They may have treated me badly, but that isn’t their fault. Who wouldn’t hate me?”

Virgil laughed bitterly, lips red “They are always so ha-happy until I come in and ruin _everything_ , o-over and over again. They have e-every right to react the way they d-do.” Tears had made their way out of his eyes by now, wetting his face, mixing with his blood.

“And even if it hurts, I forgive them. Because I-I love them. I will bleed and grieve but I will always care for them.”

“Sad. It won’t matter anymore, though”, the demon spoke, letting its fingers wander around Virgil’s chest.

Then it pushed. It pushed through his ribs while he was screaming in agony, gripping his heart and pulling it out, leaving behind his open chest.

Virgil could have sworn he saw his brothers before he took his last breath.

* * *

 

They weren’t worried, at first. Virgil sometimes retreats into his room, sometimes for hours.

But he has been gone for days now, and they were panicking. They had kicked open his room long ago, finding nothing expect his phone and headphones, still playing music.

Logan tried to find solution to Virgil’s disappearance, but failed miserably. Roman searched all of his Kingdom, sending every man and woman to find the dark persona, but never found something. And Patton? Well, Patton was crying non-stop, feeling anxiety and panic rise in his body. It was so _wrong_ , he knew that that should never happen.

They were in the main room, when they heard it. Hushed giggling came from Virgil’s room, quickly turning into full blown laughter before disappearing. After sharing a shocked glance, all three started running.

Logan was the first who stopped, was the first to see. Bloody trails lead to the cracked door, finally halting Roman and Patton.

“Wha- what is happening Logan” Roman finally whispered, not being able to tear away his gaze from the fresh blood on the floor.

“I have no idea, Roman. We have no other choice but to look for answers” Logan answered, swallowing the sense of dread that rose in him.

Surprisingly, Patton was the first to make a step, opening the door to his brother’s room. The first thing that he noticed was the smell- the air was heavy with the scent of blood and rotting flesh. He stepped inside-

And screamed. Automatically, Roman and Logan lunged forward to steady the wobbling Side, only to fall to their knees.

There, hanging from the ceiling in white ropes, was Virgil. Or better, what was left of him. He was missing an arm, which they later found fingerless on the ground next to the bed. An eye was hanging out of its socket, his jaw ripped out, letting his tongue hang freely. His chest was open, missing lungs and his heart, ribs sticking out.

On the wall behind Virgil stood one final sentence, written in neat cursive, shining red

“He still loved you”


End file.
